


anywhere but here

by lamprophony



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Daddy Issues, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Gangbang, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violent Sex, nothing is consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamprophony/pseuds/lamprophony
Summary: “Well?” the man says, mean smile on his face. He leans against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, thumbs at the button of his jeans as he looks at Dean.Dean smirks back, gives the guy a once-over. He’s nothing special, but he’s right here, and that’ll have to do.Dean gets a little more than he bargained for. Please heed the warnings, graphic non-con.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 50





	anywhere but here

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a little porny snippet about pre-series Dean having seedy alleyway hookups while being angsty about John's disappearance, but somehow it spiraled into a non-con gangbang. Don't even ask. PLEASE read the tags!

The trucker has close-cropped hair peppered with grey, a short beard to match. His eyes look tired, bags etched into his face across his cheeks. He kind of looks like Dad on a bad day, after a bender or a shitty hunt. Dean pushes the thought away quickly. He is _so_ not ready for that uncomfortable peak into his psyche. “Well?” the man says, mean smile on his face. He leans against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, thumbs at the button of his jeans as he looks at Dean. 

Dean smirks back, gives the guy a once-over. He’s nothing special, but he’s right here, and that’ll have to do. “Well c’mon then, boy,” the man growls. He leans in but doesn’t kiss Dean, roughly shoves his thumb into Dean’s mouth. Dean lets him, tastes the whiskey and stale cigarettes on the man’s rough fingers, lets the man shove Dean down to his knees. 

Dean reaches out for the guy’s fly, fingers fumbling with haste as he unbuttons his jeans and opens the zipper. The man’s wearing soft plaid boxers, well-worn with age, and Dean pushes them down to grab his cock. He’s bigger than Dean would have thought, already hard, his dick decently sized with a nice heft to it. 

Dean licks his lips, looks up at the man coyly through his lashes. This isn’t usually a flattering angle for the guys Dean hooks up with and this trucker isn’t an exception, Dean thinks idly, getting a good view of the man’s beer gut and the bags under his eyes. He licks the spongy head of the man’s dick, tasting sweat and precome. The man makes an encouraging noise as Dean opens his mouth wider to let the head of his dick rest on his tongue. 

The man huffs, tangles a hand in Dean’s hair and _shoves_ , forces his dick down Dean’s throat with no warning. Dean gags at the uncomfortable sensation of the man’s cock hitting his soft palate, forces himself to relax while he breaths out through his nose. The man pulls Dean entirely off, giving him a few precious seconds of air, before cupping Dean’s head with two huge hands and fucking his face with cruel disregard. 

It’s rough and painful and more than a little rude, but Dean feels a sick little thrill at the loss of control and composure, face slicked with spit and precome as the man roughly fucks his face. He drops his hands and lets them rest on his thighs, loose and palms up, forces his jaw to relax and allow the intrusion. Drool drips down his jaw and his head feels light, dizzy with air deprivation. 

A sudden pain rips through his scalp as the man yanks his head back. Dean blinks slowly, bewildered. The man laughs, low and gravelly. “God, look at you,” he says derisively. “Such a fucking cocksucker,” and he backhands Dean, a swift blow that snaps his head to the side. The man drags Dean back into place by his hair, hooks a thumb in Dean’s mouth as he guides him back to his cock. 

Dean’s head spins, and his lifts his hands to push at the man’s thighs. His cheek smarts, throbs where the man struck him, and combined with the way the guy’s fucking his face he’s beginning to feel like everything is spiraling out of control. He grabs at the man’s jeans and tries to push him away but he _can’t_ , he can’t push him away and he can’t breathe –

The man thrusts one last time into Dean’s mouth and Dean feels his thighs clench as he comes. Bitter semen fills his mouth and Dean swallows reflexively, desperate for this encounter to be over. He falls back onto his hands, breathing in huge desperate gulps of air. For a moment it’s quiet, just the sound of the man zipping up his jeans and Dean’s ragged breathing. 

“Like that, did you?” The trucker says. 

Dean looks up at him, disbelieving. “Fuck you,” he spits. He’s lost all sense of composure or control over the situation. His throat hurts, his face is hot with shame and humiliation, and the gravel of the asphalt digs into his palms. 

The man just laughs. “C’mon over boys,” he calls. Dean feels his blood run cold. Suddenly, the alleyway is filled with noise, the sounds of boot crunching on garbage and gravel as loud as gunshots. 

An elbow wraps around Dean’s throat from behind, pulls him to his feet. His vision whites out as the arm around his throat squeezes, cutting off his air supply. He twists desperately, hands scrabbling at his throat, but it’s no use. Whoever it is, they’re stronger, better than Dean, and he has no choice but to let them drag him backwards. 

They don’t go far. The arm releases him after what feels like eternity but Dean knows it’s only been a few minutes; Dean suspects he’s been dragged into a building attached to the alleyway. Dean hits the floor hard, shoulder slamming into rough concrete. Despite everything, he manages to roll to his feet into a crouch. 

There’s three guys; two new ones plus the trucker he blew in the alley. Those aren’t bad odds - he’s faced worse odds on a hunt. The new guys are big, brawny dudes, aged enough to have accumulated muscle and learned how to use it. The trucker isn’t much threat, now that Dean’s ready, but the two new guys - there’s a shorter one standing off to the side, clearly not in charge of this operation, but he still has broad, ropey thick forearms that speak of manual labor. The guy who dragged Dean is huge, easily has a good half foot and 50 lbs on him, with blonde hair framing severe features and a jutting jaw. There’s a strange deadness behind the eyes when he looks down at Dean. 

“He’s a pretty one, ain’t he,” trucker comments. “Sucks cock real good too.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snarls. “Just wait until I’m done with you, old man.”

The trucker laughs. “Ooohh ho, and he’s got attitude, boys!” Tall and blonde looks over at the trucker, face expressionless. 

Dean takes his chance and springs for the trucker, slams him with a solid right hook while the other two men are distracted. The trucker’s jaw cracks satisfyingly under his fist, and Dean feels a thrum of exhilaration as he sprints to the door – 

The tall man is faster than he looks. Dean’s dragged, spitting and punching, and dragged forcibly back into the heart of the room. They lead him towards a thick, low wooden table with manacles attached to each corner. The sidekick manages to catch one of Dean’s wrists and force him into the cuffs. Dean’s left hand is still free and he scratches him, nails gouging into his check and drawing blood, before the tall man takes a hold of his wrist and cuffs him. 

“God, you motherfucking piece of shit,” the trucker is saying, blood running from his mouth. 

“Be quiet,” the tall man says. His speech is ponderous, clumsy.

“He fucking punched me!” The trucker wipes his mouth angrily. “Ivan – “

Dean can’t see anything from where he’s bent over the table, but he can hear the sound of the tall guy – _Ivan_ , he thinks, stupid to give him a name – shoving the trucker away, a soft grunt as the small man slams into the wall. 

“Be quiet,” Ivan repeats. The trucker wisely stays silent. 

Dean feels hands unbuckling his belt, pulling his pants down. He tries to turn his head but a pair of hands shoves his shoulders down into the table. He kicks out blindly, struggles to pull away from the invasive touch, but it’s not use. Between the shackles and the two pairs of hands holding him down, Dean is trapped. 

“You ready to be fucked, faggot?” Ivan asks, palming a hand down Dean’s ass. “I know you’ll love it.”

Panic courses through Dean’s veins. “Fuck you,” Dean chokes out. 

“No, we’re fucking you,” Ivan croons. He pushes a lube-slicked finger into Dean’s hole. He doesn’t wait to give Dean time to adjust, quickly pulls out and pushes in another one, two, three fingers into Dean. The stretch burns, and Dean can’t help but clench his muscles even though he knows it will only make it hurt worse in the end. 

And it does hurt. It feels like it goes on forever, a relentless, merciless pounding. Dean doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream, so he bites his lip, iron tang filling his mouth. Ivan fucks him with long, ruthless strokes, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in again, making Dean experience the initial trauma of penetration over and over again. 

Dean can’t focus on anything but the painful drag of his cock stretching him open and dragging against his insides, and he breaks. 

“Please stop,” Dean begs. He’s never been so ashamed, so humiliated. But Ivan’s cock is splitting him open and it feels unbearable, he can’t stand it, he would do almost anything to make it stop. “Please, just stop, please,” he chokes out the words, tears welling in his eyes. 

If anything, it eggs Ivan on. “God, you’re a fucking mess,” the man pants. The sidekick lifts Dean’s head off the table by his hair, pushes his cock against Dean’s lips. 

“Come on, baby, let me in,” Sidekick says. 

Ivan gives Dean an especially vicious thrust, causing Dean to let out a helpless moan. Sidekick sees an opening and takes it, shoves his fingers in the corner of Dean’s mouth to wedge his jaw open further while he slides his cock into Dean’s mouth. 

It’s too much. Sidekick’s cock slides down Dean’s throat, Ivan’s cock in Dean’s ass. He can’t move or breathe, strung helplessly between these two men. He wants to fight back, to get free, but he can’t; he has no choice but to lie there and take it, let himself be fucked up and ruined. 

Ivan lets out a groan and one final thrust into Dean’s body as he comes. He pulls out slowly, inch by painful inch, and Dean is almost grateful the cock shoved down his throat silences the pathetic whimper that wants to come out of his mouth. 

Sidekick makes quick work of Dean after that, forcing his head up at a painful angle and fucking his face wildly. He comes after what feels like an age, salty come filling Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t swallow this time, weakly spits some while the rest dribbles out of his mouth down the side of his face. 

For a blessed moment, no one is touching him. 

The trucker’s familiar calloused hand on his ass breaks the moment of peace. His thick fingers trace down Dean’s ass and finger his fucked-open hole. “Jesus,” the trucker says. “I bet you secretly loved that, huh?”

Dean doesn’t respond. The trucker dips one, two fingers into Dean’s stretched open asshole. Dean’s breath hitches. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he leans in, whispers into Dean’s ear. “I should fuck you all over again, teach you a lesson. Shove my whole hand up your ass and fuck you up until you’re begging me to stop. What do you say, sweetheart?”

Dean feels frozen with fear. He knows the trucker would do it, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him. 

“Thank you,” he chokes out, speaking so fast he trips over the words in his haste to get them out. “I’m sorry. Thank you. Please, I – I learned my lesson.” _God, please just let it go, please…_

The trucker lets out an unpleasant laugh. He pushes his ring finger into Dean’s hole alongside the other two. The stretch twinges, but Dean’s so fucked open already it barely feels like pressure at all. He twists his hand and then pulls it out, wipes his fingers on Dean’s leg. “Good boy,” he says. 

Dean lets out a sob of relief. Someone – he’s not sure who – unlocks his cuffs, and he finds himself alone in the dank room. He doesn’t move or look up until the rustling stops and he’s alone. 

After a few minutes, he manages to push himself off the table. They left his clothes in a pile near the door, almost politely, wallet, phone and keys stacked neatly on top. Dean slowly pulls on his jeans, not bothering with boxers, and his shirt. There’s no cash in his wallet, but he’s pathetically grateful they left his phone and car keys. 

Dean hobbles out the door and down the alleyway, ignores the sensation of come and lube dripping out of his asshole and down his leg. His car is right outside the bar where he left it. 

It’s strange. Dean sits in the car, like he’s done a million times, and feels like his soul is entirely disconnected from his body, like he could float away and leave the wretched world behind if he just let go of the steering wheel. He doesn’t, though, watches his knuckles go white clenched around the wheel. 

_good boy good boy_

It’s too much. The floating-away feeling has switched to a sense of being trapped, horribly grounded in reality. He needs to hear a voice, a familiar voice, someone who cares about him, something to drown out the repetitive echo of _good boy_ that’s playing on loop and reverberating in his skull. He picks up his phone. 

_“This is John Winchester. If you need me, contact my son Dean at …”_

Dean violently throws his phone against the passenger-side door. Robotically puts the car into reverse, then into drive, and starts down the dark road. 

Dean’s not sure where he’s going, but it doesn’t matter. Anywhere is better than here.


End file.
